


Awkward by Definition

by Arisusan



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Backstory, Canon Backstory, Gen, Late Night Conversations, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-05-12 02:18:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19219585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arisusan/pseuds/Arisusan
Summary: Rewind meets a stranger in a clinic who's there to end the war. His own personal war, at least. Rewind himself is there looking for a corpse. Talk about first meetings.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a series of plotless conversations that I had to write out because Chromedome and Rewind are just...[author bangs head on desk]. More or less, Rewind is trying to keep Chromedome on the level from the beginning by giving him the tiniest things to hold on to. A bit of structure. A drink. A conversation. Not heavily edited, so if you notice an error, please leave a comment! Sorry about the commas

"To do something about it."

The stranger stood over Rewind, impassive.

"I know it's too late," he continued, "But if you want me to, I can tell you what he did. And why."

Grief and fear had combined forces to leave Rewind dumb and staring blankly up at the stranger's face. The faint glow around his visor contrasted with his even tone, a stuttering light in a very, very dark place.

"I—what?"

"Your friend." The stranger held out a hand, extending five long needles with a silken sound. "I can read him."

A mnemosurgeon. Blast—the last thing Rewind needed was another intervention. Prowl did not know when to fucking quit, did he?

Surreptitiously, he sent a low-level scan out to see if there was any exit he could reach. The ceiling was low, yes, but he was still tiny, and this was a windowless room full of corpses. There wasn't any need for an emergency exit, so—

There wasn't one.

He'd have to talk his way out of this. For some reason the authorities seemed to think that memory sticks were too valuable to let run around on a bender, breaking into Dead End clinics. Preserving what's left of Cybertronian history. Keeping Autobot secrets secure. Blah blah blah. Prowl could shove it where the sun didn't shine.

Seriously, though, it  _was_  a bit inconvenient. Like now. All he could do was hope this meeting was a coincidence.

Good thing that whoever he was, on whatever business, the mnemosurgeon had taken his expression to be the blank stare of grief, not the fearful glance it was. Small blessings.

"If it helps," the stranger mumbled. "I—I can tell you he never wanted to hurt you."

Hm. A mnemosurgeon in the Dead End, poking around in the grimy back rooms whose insides no one saw except the underground surgeons and the lowest scavengers. A model that he couldn't find in his archives, not by sight at least. There was one with a similar structure in pre-war Rodion, but that one was a knockoff. There could be any number of 'bots with that frame running around. Of course Rewind would suspect him to be here cleaning up government secrets, or maybe creating a few of his own.

But again, as he stared up at the grimy ceiling, the stranger spoke gently.

"He probably thought it was best this way. Believe me."

Hmm.

Oh.

Oh, yes. No. There it was. Rewind's grip must be slipping if he had only just noticed the damp melancholy that seeped out of the stranger, still watching him.

This was a mech in a relinquishment clinic.

He was here to die.

A word snapped out of him without asking permission.

" _No_."

It echoed a bit, even in the small room, while they both sat there in their odd little standoff. Then the stranger flinched—no, oh,  _no_ , no, that hadn't been what he'd meant to say. It was what he'd meant, yes, but not meant to  _say_ , per se...oh, damn.

Damn it.

He'd spent too long alone, where it didn't matter what you said aloud and what swam around in the circuits of your brain.

"I mean—" His voice was distorted, first quiet, then dissolving into a loud whine, as of an interfering signal. "No, sorry. I'm sorry. I—this—he isn't mine. I don't know him. I'm looking for someone else."

The mnemosurgeon ignored the extra static that cracked the silence. On cue, Rewind's archive produced a neat catalogue of causes and symptoms of this kind of neutral malfunction, informing him that lethargy and emotional paralysis were to be expected.

"Oh." The stranger started lifting a hand up to the back of the neck—a delayed reaction, likely embarrassed—while sliding his needles back into his fingers, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed."

"No, no, it's fine," Rewind assured him, out of habit rather than any genuine feeling. It was not fine, not at all. Dom was gone, and he'd been caught with his fingers in a coffin by a mech who fully intended for this to be  _the last conversation of his life._

A mech who now knelt down in front of him.

"Is there something you need? You were—you sounded sad. Sound sad. Who are you looking for?"

It must be this hopeless place, or the fact that this was the millionth dead body he'd seen, the millionth body that wasn't Dom—something like that—that shrunk his spark down to a pitiful little pinprick.

"My conjunx, he—" The interference forced him to pause. "He disappeared, some time ago."

"Oh. I see." Not  _I'm sorry_ , or  _oh no_ , or even  _there will be others_. "How long?"

"Six hundred and twelve thousand, eight hundred thirty eight years, nine months, and fifteen days ago."

"Not fighting, then?"

"I don't know."

"And he wasn't spec ops? Or a spy?"

"No. He was—"

It struck him, a few seconds late, what the stranger was implying. No. Dom would have told him. Dom would—no, but Dom would also have sent him a goodbye message. Dom knew he kept watch. Dom knew a thousand and one ways to tell him something, he—he could, he should have left something. That's what had driven him so far, the knowledge that there was some clue out there to what had happened, but after so long…

"He might not be dead," the stranger said, oblivious and hopeful.

Rewind's sympathetic systems wrested themselves out of his weak grip, lighting his visor—he could feel it, a touch of heat around his eyes, but he was powerless to hide it. Powerless. Impotent. Useless. He knew every word he could use to describe it, and he couldn't change it one bit. Not then. Not now. Not ever.

"I…don't know." The air filled with a rattling noise as he shook. "I don't know. I don't  _know—_ "

All of a sudden—his eyes were useless by now, showing him nothing of what happened—he felt a steadying touch, moving down his arms and around his back before pulling him close.

All he could do was hold tight, and wait until his sobbing stopped and he could speak again.

"Tell me," the stranger's sad voice said, "If you want me to stop."

No, thought Rewind, I don't want that.

"You heard me screaming," he said instead. "That's how you found me."

"Yeah. It was hard to miss."

"Why did you come?"

"You sounded like you were in pain."

"But—why?"

The stranger shrugged against him.

"I thought you'd found someone you loved. I could have helped. I don't know." He rambled on. "I suppose I know what he was thinking, even without injecting. If you'd lost him—I wanted to tell you it wasn't your fault."

"You're a mnemosurgeon." It was hard to keep the accusation out of his tone.

"I was."

"What are you now?"

There was the faint purring of a laugh from the stranger's chest. His voice was higher than what you'd expect from his size—it made him sound breathless.

"I'm not."

"You're going to kill yourself."

"I'm not," said the stranger. "I'm going to walk into a room, and then the war's going to be over."

"You're asking someone else to kill you."

"Yes."

"Don't." Rewind's voice cracked. "Please."

"You're not the first one to say that," assured the stranger. "Don't worry about it.""

"Why? Why shouldn't I?" He pushed away from the startled mech, catching his visor and looking into the eyes beneath. "You tried to help me, so at least let me try to help you."

"Look, I appreciate the effort, but it's not worth it. And I don't need help."

"It is."

"No, really, you have to understand—" The stranger broke his gaze. "If you have me live, it's not going to be a good thing, for anyone. You know what mnemosurgeons do, don't you?"

"Oh, shut up." It was weird to start arguing in a stranger's arms, but it wasn't any weirder to be sobbing alone on the floor of a clinic because the person you'd been looking for  _wasn't_  dead. "Of course I know. And I know, trust me, I know that if you don't walk out of here tonight, there are going to be people who can never look in the mirror again without wondering why."

"There's only one, and he knows why."

"He let you go?"

"He doesn't get a say. He got transferred."

Rewind grit his teeth, reached back for a wind-up, and brought a small hand across the stranger's face in a slap that stung them both.

"Hey—"

"Look at me!"

The mnemosurgeon was just startled enough to do it.

"I have been looking for six hundred thousand years. I can't forget about him. I've done everything I could. I can't move on. Just—at least leave a message, or something."

"I don't care! That's not enough. You don't know what I've done—do you know how many mechs' brains I've ripped into? Do you know how many lives I changed and poisoned and—and ended?"

"This is a war. People die."

"I was doing this to our allies. Whatever you've heard, rumours, news reports, classified memos—we did it to our own. I don't care what Brainstorm says, and he knows I don't care, and he's not going to stop me."

"Brainstorm—he's your friend."

"He's an MTO."

Rewind searched.

"Is that his name?"

"Why?"

"Because I can't find anything on him."

"Why would you?"

"I'm an archivist."

The stranger's stare grew more distant, colder. No, no, no no no, that wasn't supposed to—what was  _wrong_  with him?

"Oh. Then you know what the New Institute did."

"Yes. And I'm asking you, please, don't kill yourself. You've got so much to give the world. The world has so much to give you. Whatever you want me to say, I am  _begging_  you—"

"No." Now it was the stranger's turn to break down and to bury his head in Rewind's shoulder. "No. No. You're wrong. I don't care. I don't. I don't care."

Rewind felt despair crawling up his throat, and forced it down. Maybe he couldn't save Dom, but he could try to save this one.

"Yes, you do," he countered. "You're in worse pain than anything I've felt, and you still tried to help me. You asked if there was anything you could do."

"Not that."

There had to be some way to turn this around. Rewind grasped at something, anything he could do.

"Have a drink. With me. I'm a lightweight, so it won't take long, and at the end of it you can come back here, if you need to. But I need to talk to someone. Please."

He sighed again. Most of his friends were dead or out of contact, and this one wasn't just a stranger, but a mnemosurgeon. Only they were both alone, and both in pain, and both curled together on the filthy floor of a Dead End clinic.

"I can't let you go like this."

They sat in silence for a minute longer.

"Why not?"

"The same reason you couldn't ignore me"

The mnemosurgeon tightened his arms around him, then let go, and leaned back.

"One drink."

Rewind reached forward, taking the stranger's hand.

"I promise you…"

"Chromedome."

"Rewind. I promise that I won't stop you, if this is what you really want."

"I want to believe you."

Hand in hand, they stood up.

"I don't have a mobile alt mode," said Rewind. "Is it all right if we walk?"

"Sure. I don't exactly have anywhere to be."

Rewind had to laugh, despite the situation.

"What?"

"You're funny."

"There's a first time for everything."

"No, you are." He squeezed Chromedome's hand as well as he was able. "I'm an archivist. I know things."

…

The walk back was mostly silent, Chromedome walking ahead by a few paces, then slowing down to let Rewind catch up. It took most 'bots a while to get used to his pace, but he wasn't about to run to keep up after a day like this. Their path took them up through the underbelly of this temporary city to the local transport hub, and from there it was a quick walk through the tunnels to Rewind's one-room flat.

"Just take one of the chairs by the counter," he said, flicking the light switch as he walked through the door, "And don't worry—"

"Agh!"

A loud clang behind him suggested that Chromedome hadn't been in too many minibots' quarters before. He could stand up inside the room, fins brushing the ceiling, but he'd hit his head on the doorframe.

"Sorry," he said weakly, hunching over.

"Oh, are you all right? I'm sorry, I should have warned you about that."

"It's fine."

"Please, tell me if it isn't. As I was saying," Rewind continued, his voice small and tinny in the nighttime silence, "Don't worry about moving anything. No one really comes up here, these days."

He did a quick check of the apartment, shoving some of the more incriminating discs under the bed in the guise of cleaning up. Chromedome just stood awkwardly in the kitchen.

"Rewind? Is it all right if I take that one?"

He pointed at one of the regular-sized chairs in the apartment, shoved away in the corner and used as a shelf. Damn. Rewind had forgotten that most of his chairs were miniature as well. Most being one, and a stool.

"Yes, yes, sorry, oh, goodness—I'll just get that cleaned off for you."

A few minutes of stilted small talk later, they were on opposite sides of Rewind's table, each with a glass of engex.

"Do you want to talk about something?"

Chromedome shrugged. "Not really. There's not a lot I have to talk about. You can talk, if you want."

"Are you sure?"

"I—yeah."

"Well. Okay." He thought for a moment. Dom. The war. There hadn't been much time for anything else in his life for a long time. "What should I talk about?"

"I don't know."

He sighed, and rocked back and forth on the chair. Chromedome wasn't making this easy, but just to have him here was a small comfort.

"How about I show us a movie? I've got some discs kicking around, all sorts of records."

"Records?"

Rewind fished out the hand recorder he had, waving it about. "Did I forget to tell you? I record and process audio-visual archival material. It's why I'm Rewind."

Chromedome tensed, sending a small shiver down his spine. "Did you record…what happened?"

"I can delete it. I'm sorry, I don't really think about it."

After a moment, Chromedome relaxed, and took a sip of engex. "It doesn't matter."

"It does matter," he argued, meeting silence and a shrug.

Oh well. He got up and shuffled through the piles of material in his room, getting out the pocket projector and a few discs. "I'll project it on to the wall behind the recharge slab. Is that okay?"

"Yeah. What are we watching?"

"All instances of mechs trying to pet wild turbofoxes from security footage from the first two decades of Zeta Prime's reign." There! A real laugh! Even if it was a tiny little ripple in the engine noise. "It makes me feel better about myself."

The engex went down sip by sip, and mechs slipped and tripped after wily little machines that were far too cute for their own good. In the end, neither of them went beyond one drink, though Rewind offered another.

An hour later, they stood on either side of Rewind's threshold.

"Are you sure you've got my frequency?"

Chromedome nodded tiredly. "And your address, and your serial number."

"All right, sorry, I just—" He balled his hands at his sides, trying not to reach for the stranger he'd taken home. "If you want to talk about anything, or have a drink, or—I don't know, anything. If you need something, call me."

"You say that."

"And I mean it."

They stayed in that standoff for another minute, before Chromedome blinked first.

"For what it's worth, I hope you find your conjunx."

"Thank you. I hope you change your mind."

"Goodbye."

"I'll see you around."

Chromedome shook his head sadly, and turned to go. "Maybe."

He watched him walk softly down the hall. The world was awful. Good mechs died and bad ones triumphed. He'd seen enough of history to know it to be true.

So he ran after Chromedome, and caught his hand.

"I'll remember you," he said. "Whether or not you go through with it, I'll remember this."

They shared one last glance, full of too much regret and too little hope.

Then Rewind let go and watched him leave for the first, and maybe the last time.

…

A day later, he pinged the most recent frequency he'd found with Chromedome's name—Tumbler, he'd learned from a few old security vids and police records—attached. No reply. It might have been a fake, one of those lines that played nothing but propaganda or silence. But this was no number he recognized, and the silence was something he should have expected. He knew nothing about the mech, but he'd waited for him. Eight days, he called, and waited, switching up the times so he could catch any shift. It couldn't end like this.

He couldn't do this again.

That night, and eight after, he let himself fall into a thin, miserable recharge.

Halfway through the ninth night cycle, he woke up with a start. Cracks like gunfire sounded outside of his window, but a quick check confirmed that the noise was consistent with homemade fireworks. The sound was blurrier, and the sparks floating above the makeshift city were green.

Out of habit, he dialled the frequency that Chromedome said was his, waiting for the textured silence to come up on the other end of he line.

"Brainstorm?"

He jumped, falling off the slab with a clatter.

"Stormy?" Chromedome sighed. "I told you not to call—oh, never mind. What did you do this time?"

Rewind couldn't help but laugh.

"Wait—is this a prank call? Highbrow, I swear to fucking  _Primus_  I'm not—"

"It's me."

The complete silence from the other end told him a bit more context might be needed.

"I'm sorry, I mean, it's Rewind. You weren't picking up, I thought you'd…I mean, I didn't know…"

"Rewind?" It wasn't just him—there was more warmth in Chromedome's voice than he'd yet heard. "Are you okay? Were you calling me before?"

He had to laugh. "Yes, every day! Primus, I can't believe—you're alive!"

"I'm sorry, I'm so—I don't use this one for anything except—I didn't expect you to—I am  _so_  sorry."

I didn't expect you to care, is what Chromedome hadn't said, sending a pang of hurt through Rewind.

"Doesn't matter now," he half-lied. "Say, do you want to have another drink sometime?"

The silence on the other end lasted just long enough to be suspicious, as if Chromedome was sure it was a trick question.

"Yeah," he said at last. "I'd like that. Where do you want to go?"

"Red quadrant? There's a little place there on the corner on the fifth level from the bottom, not the best, but it's quieter than most."

"I can do two days from now. Meet three hours before night cycle?"

"Fine by me."

It wasn't until they'd said their goodbyes and terminated the link that Rewind relaxed his joints.

…

Of course the clock said it was five minutes 'til the hour. Of course. It matched up with his internal chrono. Of course Chromedome wasn't here yet.

Not that it stopped his fingers from tapping on the table's edge like a petrorabbit gnawing on steel.

It stood to reason that he'd be nervous about his first friendly rendez-vous in months, so he'd ordered a weak spritzer to calm his nerves. So far it hadn't done much other than give his fingers something to do when they got tired of tapping. Fifteen minutes—why had he arrived early? His place was a short ride away by a regular shuttle, making it nearly impossible to be late if he left on time. Not to mention the fact that Chromedome's habits all pointed to a late arrival on his part.

Just a bad habit of his, he supposed. He slid further into the booth, leaning up against the wall so he could curl up and watch the clock count forward.

It didn't help.

The drink sunk lower in his glass without doing anything about the shame and misery sloshing around in the bottom of his spark, and as the hour passed he felt his brain wander treacherously into the well-worn paths it frequented. Why did he even bother coming here? Why did he wait for someone who would never come?

No. Nope, no, not going there again. Rewind sat up straight and tapped himself on the side of his head, admonishing himself for falling into the trap again. It was still only five past, and an hour's break from the search for Dom wouldn't lose him anything. Even if—not that he was considering the possibility—even if Chromedome didn't show, he'd have spent some time clearing his head.

He downed the rest of the drink in one go, deciding not to have another until either his guest showed up or ten minutes had passed. It wouldn't do to get plastered before they'd properly gotten to know each other.

Now, with his talents, there were a number of things he could do to pass the time that didn't include wallowing. For instance, he could run through a funny video or two that he kept in his hard drive. The best of Stupid Things Mechs Said Within Earshot Because They Thought I Wasn't Sentient And That No One Was Listening, or—

"Rewind?"

"Gah!"

He jumped at the sound of his name spoken from somewhere up—quite a ways up—above the booth. Spoken by Chromedome, in fact.

"You all right?"

Above the dull murmur of the bar's patrons, he made out a silvery noise, the sound of metal sliding on metal. A brief archive check identified it as consistent with the sound of a mech's mouth curling in a smile.

"Yes, sorry," he said, still catching up. "I…I got a bit distracted. Sorry."

Chromedome stared at him for another second.

"Can I sit down, then?" he asked, at length.

As Rewind's scattered mental processes pieced together the events of the past five seconds, he became aware of an intense feeling of embarrassment.

"…please."

Chromedome slid in across from him, looking about as off-balance as he felt.

"I'm, uh, it's good to see you."

"You too." He took a sip from his drink, which he now realized was empty. "You know, could I ask you to maybe forget that this all happened, and imagine that I said 'Hi, Chromedome, I'm so glad you came' instead?"

To his surprise, Chromedome released his mnemosurgeon's needles with a metallic  _shing_.

"Do you want me to erase the bit where you forgot your drink was empty, too?"

"Oh, Primus…"

"I'm just joking, don't worry." Chromedome's laugh was deeper now, and lively. "Anyway, uh, do you want another drink? I haven't ordered mine, yet."

"I…yes, definitely. We order up at the bar, should I—"

"I'll get it." There was that same noise again, the sound of pistons. "My job's not the best, but it does pay well."

For all he'd prepared, Rewind was lost in space.

"Oh, thank you!" At least some of his manners were still there. "I'll just have the same again—weak energon spritzer."

"Got it." Chromedome nodded. "I remember, you don't hold it so well. Be back in a moment."

He swept off as quietly as he'd arrived, placing the order with a minimum of chatter. The minute it took for the bartender to prepare the drinks was enough for Rewind to pull up the small list of conversation topics he'd put together, geared towards small talk and away from things like mnemosurgery, suicide, war crimes, the war in general, and Dom.

"What have you got there?" he asked as Chromedome came back with their drinks, setting the spritzer across from him and cupping his own drink in both hands.

"Weak mulled energon," he said with a shrug. "You wouldn't guess from my frame, but I anything more than a glass of full-strength makes me tipsy."

"Oh, dear. Have your coworkers found out?"

"Brainstorm makes a point of telling everyone we meet," was the rueful answer. "I don't go out much, as you've probably guessed."

Brainstorm! That was conversation topic #4.

"He's the friend you told me about, isn't he? I don't have many mentions in my archive, apart from casual correspondence. The rest is classified."

"That's because he's not really Brainstorm—it's just a nickname we gave him. I'm not actually Chromedome, either."

So, that seemed to be a bit of a deflection. Maybe not the best idea to pry further.

"Oh! Yes, I remember. Tumbler, right?"

"You searched me up?"

"Yes, I…I was looking for some way to contact you. You were on the payroll for the Rodion police force, weren't you?"

"Got it in one. I was mechaforensics for a while, before the war." Chromedome's engine rumbled low in what could have been a chuckle. "It was interesting."

Score! Conversation topic #2 (old jobs) seemed to be working.

"Can I ask you how you got on to that? There weren't too many positions, with how the Senate ran things, and the records didn't show any modifications."

"You're asking how a basic car ended up in an intellect-class job?"

"I'm a memory stick," he offered, trying to quell the tension, "I know it wasn't exactly a fair system."

Chromedome nodded. "Yeah, you're right about that. I had enough brains and enough luck to crawl my way up—a lot of luck, actually. My old partner thought I could get alt mode exempt status if I applied for it, but I liked it where I was."

"I can imagine. Tell me, is it as cool as in the vids? Do you really go whizzing around on death-defying chases in skydarts?"

"You're the one with security footage access, you tell me."

Hm, still a bit cagey. Rewind would just have to press on.

"I didn't do that much searching, and you're the only one who can say if it was cool or just a bother."

"Good point. I'd say…yeah, cool, on balance. Especially—well, it's a long story, but remind me to tell you about the time I got to work with Orion Pax."

"You—oh, goodness, of course Prime was a cop, what was I thinking? You met him? Before?"

"That's what I just said," teased Chromedome. "I thought he was amazing, my partner thought he was insane."

"I'm not one for hero-worship, but I have to agree. I—not that I'm expecting to, or anything, but I'd  _love_  to compile his biography."

"Well—" Chromedome looked as bashful as a mech could with a mask on. "I don't know how much time you have, but if you really want, I could tell you the story."

"I'm not really in a job, these days. Just consultation work. And I'd love to hear it."

"All right. It was just after Megatron's exile, when Proteus made his Promise…"

As Chromedome went, muttering and mumbling through a story that was right out of a pre-war action flick, Rewind combed through his archives, gathering bits and pieces of footage and audio to corroborate the story, or fill in the blanks. As he did, he noted a certain similarity between Chromedome's Praxian partner and the 'bot who currently stood as Autobot SIC.

A quick cross-check confirmed that yes, Tumbler's odd and oddly kind stick-in-the-mud partner was, in fact, Prowl.

"You and your partner worked well together," he said at one point, trying to sound off-hand. The admiration Tumbler had felt bled into the story Chromedome told.

He only responded with a shrug, though. Something must have happened along the way to break whatever bond they'd had. It figured. Prowl was Prowl, young and innocent or no.

"We were both good at our jobs," was all Chromedome had to say.

As the story wound its way to an ambiguous conclusion—there were details missing, he was sure of it—an idea occurred to Rewind.

"Did you ever want to find out what happened, with the Matrix?"

"You have no idea. Prowl just stonewalled me, and by the time I saw Pax again he'd become Prime."

"Ratchet might be willing to tell us, or maybe one of the Shockwave's students. D—my conjunx taught some supplementary courses there. I'm sure the administrators could pass along your contact information.

"Sure." Chromedome made the noise again, which he'd decided was a smile. "If you don't mind me asking—your conjunx, who was he?"

Rewind steeled himself. "Promise me you won't laugh? It's not a joke."

"How could it be a joke?" Chromedome seemed hurt. He'd see in a second.

"Promise me."

"All right, I promise."

"My conjunx endura was— _is_  Dominus Ambus."

"You're—no, you're not kidding, you said so. Right." Chromedome muttered, more for his own benefit than Rewind's. "You're his conjunx?"

"I can send you the record, if you want. We tried to keep me out of the public eye, so that I wouldn't be targeted, but it's not a secret."

"I believe you." A small huff of amusement escaped his vents.

"What's so funny?"

"I caught Brainstorm reading some of his work the other day. The  _love_  poetry."

"Oh." His fans kicked on in embarrassment. Dom was an ascetic, but he'd been…expressive when the mood took him. "May I ask you  _not_  to read it?"

"Don't worry. I'm not much of a romantic. But…whatever it was, it had him all staticky."

He must have really loved you, was the unspoken implication.

"I always liked his political works better," Rewind said uneasily, "Even if they weren't written for me."

"Interesting." Chromedome seemed more amused by this line of conversation than anything, so Rewind decided to let him go on. He'd had enough of pity. "I have to ask, how did you two…happen? I only know about him from the news, well, that and a couple of class-hate cases, but from what I hear he didn't go out much."

"No, no, he didn't." And that had been just fine by him; time spent with Dom was an oasis of calm even in the early days, when he could forget about ratioism and disposables and just have a good conversation. "I was assigned to him."

"Oh."

It was always an awkward moment, when he reminded mechs of the days before Dom. Before emancipation. Chromedome was young, his record noting him as a cold construct, but even so—he might remember the days when common frames were stripped of their vocalizers and treated as chattel. And when other mechs didn't think it wrong.

"Not exactly the most romantic beginning," he added, trying to lighten the mood. It wasn't right to blame everyone, is what he told himself, and the knock-offs would know better than most how it felt on the outside.

"Yeah, I'd say. How did he figure out you were sentient?"

"Excuse you,  _I_  was the one who told him. Reversed the hardline connection between the computer and my alt mode, commandeered his programs, ordered him to get me a vocalizer."

"Was it that easy?"

"Oh, the message  _was_  the easy part. It was just the first time I'd been given a Neocybex dictionary—my previous…employers had been scientists, so they loaded data directly from instruments. Dom had programmed me to record verbal communication so that he could dictate his works."

"Clever." Chromedome nodded, a small tilt of his head indicating that he wanted him to go on. Quite polite, actually.

"From there, it was…interesting."

"Was it then that he started campaigning?"

"I…yes, more or less. Prior to that, he'd been doing some literary writing and a few papers on the relationship between functionism and natural rights. After, I think we spent a few decades working on disposable rights before the first laws were passed."

"You must really have gotten to know him."

"We both did. Get to know each other, I mean."

The warm glow of nostalgia flickered, and no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't say more.

"Yeah," said Chromedome softly.

The murmur of the patrons swelled and shrank around them to the rhythm set by glass clinking on metal, filling the silence as Rewind searched for words that might fit. Not saying it was not an option—the abstract concept of his love and his loss was what he needed to convey. Dom had been his  _life_ —it sounded stupid, and weak, but he couldn't find it in him to feel ashamed—and then—and then—

And then what? And then he was gone, was one way to put it, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't right. It wasn't even close to what had happened, but was there really a word that encompassed grief, betrayal, doubt, and a cocktail of all those other nasty feelings that swarmed his brain and gnawed at every memory. Dom was gone, but was he dead? Was he alive, and waiting? Had he left? Truly left?

It had taken a couple of millennia for Rewind to even consider that others might think it a possibility, but now…he didn't know. He had to know. He had to find him.

All the while, Chromedome watched him and didn't say a word, barely even fidgeting with his glass. Oh, dear. He'd not spoken much at all, and Rewind hoped belatedly that his chatter just bored him numb. It wouldn't be the first time.

Where had they even left off?

Right. Dom.

"I'm sorry," he said haltingly, "It's just, I don't think I've really talked about it. To anyone. I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to."

"I want to. If that's okay with you."

"It's not like I have anywhere else to be."

Technically, it would be better manners to change the subject and keep them both comfortable.

Practically, Rewind couldn't just stop.

"It took a while," he said. Great start, Rewind, you're being totally clear. "The conjunx thing, I mean."

He flicked his throat to try and clear up the sounds a bit. Across the table, his face stared back at him, reflected in Chromedome's visor.

"First, we were focused on advocacy. Kind of a practical thing, I guess, since you can't legally say the rites with any non-sentient being. Not that we were thinking about it back then—I was, maybe, but not seriously. I mean, it was  _Dominus Ambus_."

The numbers on his HUD didn't lie, but he still felt like he hadn't had enough engex for this conversation.

"Actually, I tell a lie. Early days, there were a few writing projects he had to finish up. Or so he said. I think he was just trying to get the measure of me, keep me safe. Mostly it was talking."

"You're good at that," said Chromedome unexpectedly.

"Hey! If you won't speak up, I will." The mask helped some, but he was sure he wasn't fully able to hide the grin that spread across his face. "Can I go on?"

"If you want to."

"I…" he started, trying to figure out a way to phrase it. "I don't think I really have a choice."

"Suit yourself."

"So…where was I? Right. Some literary writing first, then political—nutrition was one of the factors we worried about. They kept us on crude in those days, since they figured we didn't have any higher brain functions. Now, I don't know if you've ever had to drink it, but its effects on the brain are similar to high-grade." He tapped a finger to the side of his head for emphasis. "Makes you slow, makes you stupid. Dom got me on the good stuff pretty quickly. The PR, though, that was—it was infuriating!"

"Let me guess," said Chromedome. "They were going on about how incredible it was to find a literate data slug?"

"Precisely. Oh. I guess it's the same for cold constructs."

"How did—"

"Sorry!" he squeaked, realizing his mistake just ask Chromedome's visor started to dim. "I've got special access to Autobot records. No one told me."

"Oh. I guess—yeah, sorry. I guess we both know what it's like."

"People always choose someone to hate. Mass transport alt-modes, beast alt-modes, disposables, cold constructs. That's what we were fighting."

"What happened after that?"

"After what?"

"The energon thing."

"Oh, yes. It took a while, and an official study, but most people agreed that we were sentient by the end of it." The next words were lined up in his tubing, but seemed to trip on their way to his vocalizer. "We—sorry, little glitch there—it was safer to travel with Dom before that. I was still technically  _his_. He'd hired me out of the colony, though he dropped the pretense of employment the moment I talked to him. So we lived together. He had a brother in the security forces, out on assignment. I took his room."

Why was it so hard to say? Why was it impossible not to?

"There's—you know, there are two ways things can go when you don't leave someone's side for a few millennia," he said, trying for nonchalance. "You either end up hating them, or—or—"

Chromedome looked away from him, focusing on his drink.

"—I fell in love with him," Rewind finished lamely. "Sorry. I'm making this awkward, aren't I?"

"I hate to break it to you," said Chromedome slowly, "But things between us are always awkward. We're awkward by nature. By definition. The first thing I said to you was oversharing. You knowing I was  _there_  counts as oversharing."

"I guess." Rewind couldn't hold back a laugh. "Yeah, you're right. Has anyone ever told you you're hilarious?"

"Only after three pints."

He giggled despite himself. "There, you did it again!"

"Were you two conjunx by the time the laws passed? I know you officially couldn't be, but…"

"Oh, no. I was head over heels, but I was sure that Dom couldn't see me like that. I was his project, I thought. Besides, he—you know what he was like. No engex, no boosters, no dates, just writing and talking."

"What about the poetry?"

"The romantic stuff? Oh. Well." A touch of heat crept into his mask. "Promise not to tell…"

"I won't."

"I was sure it was dedicated to a Senator. One of the ones who drafted the legislation. He was a bit of a firebrand, that one, well-educated, elegant, a chemist's crucible…Primus, I hated him. Not that I was ever rude, but still."

" _Someone_  was jealous," teased Chromedome.

"Shut up. Anyway, it wasn't him."

"How did you find out?"

"The day after the legislation was passed, we went up to one of the viewing stations for a walk, and then he asked me to do the rites."

"That's, like, sickeningly romantic."

"It was. I nearly had a spark spasm."

A soft hissing noise came from across the table.

"Are you laughing at me?"

"Yep."

"That's a terrible laugh, just so you know. It sounds like your vocalizer shorted out."

"Is that what you did? You laughed at him?"

"Maybe."

"It totally was."

Rewind threw his hands up in defeat.

"Ugh, don't remind me. Did you know, he thought I'd reject him! He'd lived with me for how many centuries, and he didn't even know how I felt!"

"You thought he was going after the Senator."

"Oh, all right, but  _I_  wasn't the one heralded as a point oh one percent genius."

"Sure. Sounds like it was a wild chance that you even talked about the rites in the first place."

"I assure you, it was."

Chromedome sat back, leaning into the wall where it joined the booth.

"So, our heroes suck it up and talk about their feelings, what, ten thousand years after meeting?"

"Thirty. Thirty thousand."

"Same thing. What then? I didn't see Ambus in the news much after Zeta."

"You didn't see him at all, actually," Rewind confirmed. "It was only a few years after that—once we'd seen the law and the liberation through—that we left."

"I can't believe you didn't want to stick around for the New Senate's complete and abject failure," said Chromedome sarcastically.

"Shhhh, don't say that, or the New Institute's going to come get you."

It must have been the engex. That was it. That was why he didn't realize what he'd said until there was the click of a frown from beneath the mask.

"Oh, god I'm—I didn't mean it like that."

"You did." Chromedome shrugged. "But I know what I did."

Rewind quickly changed the topic, but the fragile sense of comfort between them had already shattered. Chromedome just nodded, put in a few witty comments here and there, and said nothing about himself. Really, Rewind realized, it had been a monologue since he'd finished his story about Prime.

It was his choice what to say and what not to say but—oh, suppose he thought Rewind some sort of self-centred chatterbox. Suppose he hadn't been listening. Suppose he had. Suppose their first proper conversation was such an awkward overshare that they would never be able to think of each other without a vague sense of distaste. Suppose—

"What time is it?" asked Chromedome. He'd know, of course, but it was kind of him to breach the subject before cutting and running.

"An hour before night cycle. When does your shift start?" he asked stiffly.

Assuming a night shift would give Chromedome an out. He wouldn't force him to stay with him, talking about sports stats (Eject's thing) and beast mode taxonomy (Dom's).

"An hour. I should probably get going."

"Yes, of course, I'm sorry—I would have let you out sooner, if I'd known."

"Don't be. I'd have left sooner if I needed it."

A tentative warmth touched at the edges of his spark.

"Will I see you again?"

"If you want. Same time next week? My schedule's due to change soon, but I'll send the new one over when I get it."

"I'll mark it down," said Rewind, nearly jumping as a new message popped up on his HUD. A personal message. That  _wasn't_  from Eject, or from work. "Is—"

"My frequency number. The one I gave you was outdated."

"Thanks! Do you mind if I use it?"

"Yes, I do mind, because I gave it to you for you to specifically not use," Chromedome said dryly.

"So…I suppose I'll see you next week?"

"I guess so."

Chromedome started to move, but then Rewind remembered.

"Wait—"

"Mm?"

"Do you think you would ever want to help me look?"

"Sorry, what?"

"For Dom, I mean," he said nervously. "I spend most of my time collecting and processing information. Some war journalism, some documentation, some consulting. But…" It was hard to say the words. "I'm always searching. I've gone through thousands of data banks and records, and all I've got is breadcrumbs. It's almost a game by now, really. If you wanted to, only if you wanted, you could help. Just for something to do."

"High Command moves me all over the place," Chromedome said cautiously, "But I could use something to keep me away from the job. Could I meet you at the public archive sometime? You can give me a data slug, or something, and I could go through it for evidence."

"What?"

"I said we could meet up some time, and I could see if there's anything in your data that jumps out at me."

Rewind stared blankly across the table.

"Rewind? Is there something wrong?"

"No!" It was far rougher than he intended. "I mean, no, that's—that's perfect. Thank you. I just didn't—thank you, so much."

"I'm happy to do it," said Chromedome, another note of warmth creeping into his voice. "It'll give me something to do during off hours that doesn't involve getting overcharged like some idiot newframe."

"And it'll give me an excuse to talk to you. If that's okay with you."

Now it was Chromedome's turn to stare blankly.

"Sorry, I didn't mean—well, we already agreed to meet up again, but I don't have much company these days.

"That's not it."

"Oh. You don't have to tell me, if you don't want to."

He could feel Chromedome's eyes on him through the visor, and decided to fill the silence.

"I just want to make sure you'll be okay with everything."

He reached across the table and squeezed the hand reaching for a drink, then felt its fingers lace with his own.

"How are you so kind?" The words seemed to force their way out of Chromedome's vocalizer, ragged and quiet. "Why do you  _care_?"

"I told you. I know that if you go, there's someone that will never be the same. Someone's going to wait up all night thinking about you, someone's going to let their spark casing shake them into recharge. That's what happened to me. I didn't think I could stand it if I let someone else feel… _this_  much pain. Besides, I've lost too many friends."

"But I'm not a friend."

"You're someone's, and you could be mine. That's close enough."

"Thank you, Rewind," Chromedome said, then turned and walked away before he could respond in kind.

Not the sign-off he'd expected, but one that gave him hope that this might not fizzle out and die like every other wartime friendship.


	2. Short Term Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rewind and Chromedome's odd friendship runs aground on the rocky shores of Chromedome's personality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is some stuff from ages ago following up after the first chapter. Might fix it up later, might not! Nonetheless--CD-RW

"What is it this time?" Barely a step outside the operating theatre, Chromedome found that he'd already been mobbed. "Did someone die? Was it Brainstorm?"

"No such luck," said Highbrow sadly.

"Damn."

Before they could brief or debrief, the measured noise of footsteps came down at them from somewhere in the dark, winding corridor out to the clinic storefront.

"I thought I told him to stay at the desk," muttered Highbrow. "No matter what Red Alert says about the security, we need someone watching."

"It's fine."

Chromedome turned to face the slim, mid-sized caliper set that now melted out of the shadows.

"What is it, Birdbrain?"

"We've got a defector." Birdbrain, the newest addition to their little clinic, clutched his clipboard defensively in anticipation of the name. " _Prowl's_ not sure if he's the real deal, so we need you to check him out. Oh, and implant a coupla false memories while he's at it. Er. Yeah. I can't believe the guy."

"When's this happening?" Chromedome asked, resigning himself to the overtime.

Birdbrain froze. "You're all right with it?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"There is the small matter of your medical leave," snapped Highbrow. That must have been why he was so tense. "I seem to remember a flaming row between Prowl and Ratchet about spark damage."

"Look, I'm fine." Chromedome sighed. "I'm on meds, Ratchet patched me up, I got kicked down here. One more's not going to hurt me. And, yeah, he's a dick, but Prowl's not going to ask me to do something just for fun."

Highbrow, veteran complaint-listener-to, pursed his lips and glared as Birdbrain continued.

"He doesn't care if you can handle it! So long as you die being useful, I mean, he—"

"Yeah, that's true." Chromedome cut him off before they rehashed the eternal argument. "But, like I said, he'll have run the calculations. He's decided it's worth the risk. Now, when. Is. It?"

"Tomorrow," said Highbrow. "Next night cycle, I mean."

"Okay. Now, how about we let me make my own choices—" He gave Birdbrain a firm poke in the shoulder. "And figure this out. Our project's not high priority, otherwise it wouldn't be down here."

"Very well." Highbrow shot sharp look at the sceptical Birdbrain, then turned back towards the main lab area. The other two followed. "We'll need a data source against which to check the memories…"

A data source.

"Stupid prepositions," muttered Birdbrain. "It sounds wrong when you end with them, sounds wrong when you don't."

They did have an approved list of databanks, archives, and archivists. Could they maybe borrow something from the library?

"… _and_ to implant new ones, to ensure loyalty if he's a plant."

No, something that precise would need a living source, to make up a believable backstory. They'd need an archivist.

"Chromedome?" asked Birdbrain.

They'd reached the door of their tiny satellite lab, Chromedome realized, and they had walked inside. They were now currently inside the lab. And Chromedome's brain was obviously somewhere else, damn it, if he couldn't get a grip on where his feet were going. The first few hours after a surgery were weird, even with a quick self-patch like he'd been doing.

"What?"

"You got anything to say?" the MTO continued.

What had they been…never mind, it was probably an argument. His coworkers never got along, no matter that they worked, fuelled, and lived together. Just like him and Prowl. How they used to be.

"Listen to Highbrow."

The blank stares he got from both parties—Birdbrain just in front of him, and Highbrow at his desk—told him he'd guessed wrong.

"What I  _believe_ he meant," said Highbrow, "Was: do you know of any other preparations we might need to make before you operate?"

He thought for a moment. "No, I don't think so. Should I come in early?"

"They said he'd be here around 2200. The day shift can install him and keep him sedated. Would you say it's best to start the operation sooner than later?"

"Yeah. The more stress they're under, the harder it is for me."

Highbrow had their calendar pulled up on the desk in front of him, showing lab and personal commitments. Chromedome was marked down for a weekly drink, no more than three hours long—when you had someone as close to Autobot secrets as the New Institute mechs, you found that privacy was a lot harder to come by. If your GPS showed any anomalous activity, you could be sure someone was listening in.

Thus, the calendar.

"We can start early, right at 2200," said Highbrow.

"Birdbrain? That all right with you?"

"Sure!"

Birdbrain flashed a cheerful thumbs up, joining Chromedome where he stood looking over Highbrow's shoulder.

"Now," Highbrow continued, "For a data source. I'd say an archivist would be best, as we may need to create a complex and believable cover story."

"You're right," said Chromedome absently.

"What a surprise," mumbled Birdbrain.

"Respect your elders," Highbrow chided with a smile.

"Hah! Says the knock-off."

"Children, children," Chromedome sad, placing a hand on each of their heads.

"Chromedome!"

In the face of that unified opposition, he withdrew his arms and folded them over his chest.

"What do our options look like?"

"Not too many, I'm afraid," said Highbrow.

The chill that had been building in Chromedome's spark casing spread into his frame.

"What's our best bet?"

"Well…let me see…there's one that doesn't have much first-hand data, but he does have the most detailed accounts. The others are—wait, I know he was transferred last month. The other one on this colony is a warborn."

"So that leaves…?"

"Just one. Archivist, memory stick alt mode. Name's Rewind. I'll put a request in, shall I?"

"Sure," said Chromedome, frozen now. "Doesn't look like we have a choice."

…

A notification flashed across Rewind's HUD, innocuous in the slim sans serif font he'd chosen for his more heavily encrypted channels.

Innocuous, yes, but it stuck in Rewind's mind. By the time he'd finished loading and saving the current folder, he had resigned himself to a break in his research. It wasn't about Dominus, it  _couldn't_ be about Dominus, but…there was still a chance. It was also his duly sworn duty to the Autobot cause to answer High Command when it called.

As of the moment, there was nothing to keep him from answering. He sat cross-legged on the floor of the colony library, methodically going through each piece of data storage. Boxes, pads, slugs, wireless transfers from banks of servers, any one could have the answer he needed. Data could be erased, but even if you deleted it and scrubbed the server, there would still be someone out there who knew…

And maybe he'd find him at the clinic tomorrow. Maybe not. He would never know unless he went.

Rewind unplugged the data box—an older model, used to store heavier information loads but still readable in an emergency—and set it on the growing stack on his right side. Still kneeling on the archive floor, he opened the message, entered his password, and read the contents.

As usual, there was just a frequency number. This was a local one, he noted with an odd pang of relief. Any other day, he might be disappointed, as High Command assignments were the only way to get closer to the battlefield with his classification and the controls on travel from this colony, but…

Somehow, he'd gotten used to this routine. Days were spent going through each item in the archives, first by relevance and then by number. Nights were for sweeping the lower levels and clinics for corpses and survivors, anyone who might remember a death or a capture.

It was unthinkable that Dominus would choose to disappear, and so he chose not to consider it an option.

This frequency took a moment longer than usual to dial, skipping halfway around the occupied territory before arriving at the destination, but the voice on the other end of the line was the usual.

"What's up? How's the history these days?"

Anyone listening in would hear him conversing with an irreverent friend.

"I'm doing well, thank you. You were saying we should meet up sometime?"

"Yeah. Do you want to go to that place, what's it, midway up the block on Andromeda between fiftieth and three hundred and sixth?"

"Fine by me. What time would work for you?"

"Eh, let's see…how about later today? I can do any time past 2300."

More than once, he wondered who the voice was. It cracked and warbled, not what you'd expect from the highest-ranked officer in the region. Then again, it could have been simulation software, or an underling with no context and under direct supervision.

"I'll arrive at 2300, then. Anything you'd like me to bring?"

"Just yourself. I'll let you get back to reading…bi-partisan military history, was it? Recruitment drives within the first century after the gunshot?"

"Yes, that's right. I'll be there."

"See ya!"

The line went silent. Nothing the instructions, Rewind pulled up the library catalogue from his saved memory and started searching.

…

"Hey! You must be Rewind! What's your authorization?"

The mech that opened the door was a cheerful blue-and-white build, probably some kind of instrument rather than a transport mode.

"And you are?" He asked after rattling off the long alphanumeric series that had appeared in his inbox. "I can't say I've been to this location."

"They call me Birdbrain! Come on in."

The door slid shut behind him as he followed the lanky—scientist? He should know better than to discriminate based on alt mode—through to the lab proper, past the doors hiding what were likely scanners and security drones and through a winding series of corridors.

"What are we doing today?" he asked politely. "My summons wasn't very informative."

"A bit of fact-checking, you know? We've had our mnemosurgeon doing a bit of interrogation—the poor guy really doesn't seem up to it, actually, but what do I know—and we need to make sure the memories actually match up with what he's saying."

Rewind hopped and skipped to keep up with Birdbrain's long stride.

"Wouldn't he be able to tell if they were tampered with?"

"Oh? You know a bit about mnemosurgery?"

"Not much. A friend of mine…"

"Ah. Say no more. You know, I swear ours is just about the only one left alive these days. You'd think they'd decide to quit before it killed them, but noooo, we've got to mope around the lab and make jokes about it."

"I'm…yeah, it's sad the way High Command treats the issue."

"I guess—oh! Here we are!"

Birdbrain pulled up suddenly, giving the wall a kick.

"Chromedome! Your guy's here!"

Rewind jumped.  _Chromedome—_? But…didn't he quit? Shouldn't he have quit?

Before Rewind had a chance to think on how he felt about this, a door opened in the seemingly blank stretch of wall and a familiar visor peeked out.

"I'm Chromedome," the mnemosurgeon said shortly, "Birdbrain, tell Highbrow I'll be charging overtime."

"Sure thing, dude."

Birdbrain ambled off, leaving Rewind staring at Chomedome, who kept the door open just a crack.

"So you're Rewind?"

 _Pretend you don't know me._  The ping made him jump again; the message was text, sent on an unfamiliar frequency to his personal number.

"Yes. Your coworker told me I'm here to corroborate evidence."

_Why? What's going on here?_

"Come in, then."

_It's my job. Best you don't get involved._

"Thank you."

_I'm already involved._

"I've got the important parts loaded on to the computer over there. If you could link up and split the display, that would best. I'll be recording the visuals."

_I mean that it's better if they don't know we know each other._

"I can do that, yes. It'd help if I knew more details before we start."

_Fine. Fine, but why are you even here? I thought you would quit! You nearly died!_

"I can't tell you a lot, but you're looking through memories from the early war period. That help?"

_It's more complicated than that. We need every mnemosurgeon we have, at this stage._

"Not really. Any system weaknesses I should know? I don't want to download anything nasty, even if it's not a virus."

_Birdbrain said the rest of them are dead. Mostly dead. I cross-checked with my records. You do know that you're going to die if you don't stop soon._

"Standard firewalls should do."

_I won't. I mean, I will, but not for a long time. I'm one of the best. Maybe the best, now Trepan's gone._

"All right. It'll take me a minute or so to hook everything up, but then we should be good to go."

_I'm not just talking about the spark strain._

"Good. This might take a while. I'll have to pull things at random."

_Listen: I wouldn't be doing this if there wasn't a reason. Prowl needs mnemosurgeons if we're going to win the war._

"Right. I'm patching the visual feed now."

_Prowl? You're doing this for him?_

"When I pull up a memory, I'll need you to run it against your database while projecting it on to the right side of the screen. If you've got footage or records that agree or disagree with what's shown in the memories, you can put them up on the left side."

_No! Under him, not for him. All I'm saying is that he's not doing anything just because he can. There's a reason. They need me._

"Okay. I'm ready."

_So he's assigned you to something that's going to kill you. He put you on a suicide mission._

"The first memory should take place during the third Iacon campaign, latter half of the artillery splintering, Decepticon front."

_You're making it sound worse than it is._

"So far, the location matches up for every mech I recognize. Wait. No, yes. Okay. We had some Ravage sightings on a space station. Here. The footage isn't great, so it might have been something else."

_Am I? Am I? Your—Prowl was your partner! In more ways than one, I think! And you're telling me he's making you do this, when you tried to kill yourself over it?_

"Got it. How much longer do you need for this one?"

_No one makes me do anything. I've done enough Shadowplay to earn a life sentence. I've chopped up the brains of people who talked to me at the wrong time, in the wrong place. Pretend you don't know me, and no one's going to try and do that to you. Even better, stop having anything to do with me._

"I think that'll do for now. What's next?"

_Are you threatening me?_

Chromedome recoiled so quickly he stumbled, the first display of any emotion since they'd come here.

"Recent peace talks with part of Shockwave's faction. Past two decades, approximately."

_No. Never. I'd never hurt you. But I'll can't let anyone else do it, either._

"I don't have much footage of that, just entries and exits. Wasn't it top secret?"

"Use what you have."

They spent the next few hours in chilly silence, talking only when they needed to.

It was about halfway through that when Rewind's anger fizzled out, leaving a flat liquid sorrow in his chamber.

…

Chromedome, he decided in a fit of pique, was going to have to live with the consequences of his actions. Either he was going to apologize for giving him the runaround, or he was just going to have to do without his company. He'd sent a quick comm cancelling their next meeting. It was plausible that he could be working, since he worked mostly on call, but Chromedome would never truly fall for that.

It was after ten days had passed, when they were nearly end of the two weeks before their next scheduled meet-up that Rewind realized he'd miscalculated. At this rate he'd be fine with a bit of contrition, or at least an explanation. Maybe just a comm.

And a comm he got, the morning of.

_Can't make it today. New schedule. Sorry._

That, he realized, was that. Chromedome had told him he'd send over a new time when his schedule changed. He'd promised. Not entirely. But he'd told him, and he'd meant it at the time.

If someone had asked him for advice about this kind of sticky social situation, he'd have said that it needed time, and maybe you wouldn't want to be spending that much time around someone who'd leave you hanging at the drop of a hat.

It was just that…well, it didn't feel like that right now. What he'd said—he'd been upset. Angry, even. Angry that High Command knew that Chromedome was selling his life in bits and pieces. Definitely angry that High Command was his former partner. Even more peeved that he'd guessed right in thinking that Prowl was someone that he loved, once.

He was angry. Chromedome had known it and it was  _hard_ , far too hard to tell if he was serious when he said that their friendship might end in him laid out on the operating table with needles in his brain. It was ridiculous, paranoid, but…he had spools and spools of data that proved there was very little High Command would not do. There were billions of lives on the line. He had faith that no one would act rashly, but if Prowl suspected he might sell secrets…

Goodness. Two ellipses in one monologue.

Which brought him back to the present. He'd been angry, and Chromedome was afraid. Angry too, in the tight, taut way of a soldier watching the bombs drop and finding himself frozen to the spot. Whatever he was afraid of, he thought he could see it coming, but couldn't do a thing about it. He was helpless, and powerless, with nothing left but the job and a vague goal far out of his reach.

Sounded familiar, didn't it?

What Rewind had now was a tricky little problem. Chromedome had gone silent, and Rewind had realized there wasn't a spark on the planet he could talk to instead.

He weighed the options on his fingertips. Pros on the left, cons on the right.

Then, hopping up from the lone chair in his kitchen, he skated down the hall to the elevator. There was a nice little canteen down the way that did big, hearty batches for cheap, taking military credits as well as plain shanix.

It was time to pay a visit to his worst, best, and only friend.

_Coming over in an hour! Wanted takeout, and it's always best shared._

That should do as a warning, shouldn't it? Gave him an option to back out.

Rewind could only hope he didn't take it.

…

Chromedome's place was in the middle of a hallway, midway up a building in the middle of a neighbourhood that wasn't too shabby by the standards of one of the last cities left, but wasn't too nice either. Rewind's connections and noncombatant status had gotten him used to good accommodations, which might explain it, though he wondered why Chromedome's didn't do the same.

He rapped on the door sharply. He'd be damned if he commed after making the trek out here. Chromedome would have to use his basic senses for this one.

"It's Rewind!" he called, as loud as he could without bothering anyone else. "You in there?"

The quiet on the other side was a bit worrying, but after that a few loud clangs and muffled swearing comforted him with the fact that Chromedome was, at least, at home. If a bit angry.

"Sorry about that."

The door—far larger than his, being built for a mid-size bot and all—opened to show the same old Chromedome slouching over him.

"About what?"

"I, uh, I've been cleaning up, so I had to finish up a few things—"

"Don't worry about it! Here," he thrust the thermoflasks he'd been carrying towards him. "You'll have a better idea of where to put these."

"Uh, sure. Um. Would you mind just waiting out here for another minute? There're a few more things I need to kick under the slab."

"Honestly, I'll be fine. I lived in the disposable ghettoes, remember?"

Chromedome winced visibly, though he'd meant it as a joke. "Oh, yeah."

Mostly a joke. He didn't like to think about it as anything else.

Chromedome took the flasks, re-entering his apartment without giving a direct invitation. Rewind could only guess it was safe to follow.

"Like I said," mumbled Chromedome, "I'm really, really sorry about this."

What "this" was became apparent the moment he stepped in. Every available surface that wasn't taken up by scattered datapads was occupied by interesting contraptions that sent a shiver of unease through him. There was a jar of paint over in the corner, and a haphazard stack of nanite supplement jars on the kitchen table. Something standing in the corner looked quite a bit like a modified death clock.

"I've been cleaning since you called, but it's been a while. All I could do was get the floor clear."

This was  _clean_?

"What do you mean, a while?"

"Well, it's not like anyone comes over."

"But…you do live here, don't you?"

"I'm low maintenance," Chromedome said with a shrug. "Promise, I can shove most of this under the recharge slab in a couple of minutes."

He gestured loosely at what Rewind had dismissed as yet another pile of junk, but now recognized as a recharge slab buried under a pile of junk. Not too much better.

"Do you—you don't normally sleep on it like that. You can't."

That wasn't a joke, but for some reason Chromedome cracked a grin.

"Not most days, nope. I just plug in on the floor in front of the vidscreen."

Rewind couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't veer into nagging territory and destroy whatever fragile good mood Chromedome was in, so he stood in silence as Chromedome quite literally threw his belongings across the room.

"I'll go pour the energon, I think."

"Sure. Cubes are in the fridge."

"I mean, the stuff I brought."

"Yeah. I store the empty cubes in the fridge, since there's no room in the cupboards."

"Ah, right."

Rewind fetched a couple. The glass was cold to the touch. Best to warm them up a bit, so they didn't have a lukewarm dinner.

"What do you mean, it's not like anyone comes over?"

He opened his vents and held the cubes up to them, letting warm air run over them.

"What I said," answered Chromedome, still working behind him. "You can take the chair, since you're a guest."

Rewind looked around to see a small stool and one chair lined up on one side of a half-cleared table.

"Okay." Never mind that he was half his size.

The glass warmed up slowly as the noise of the cleaning faded to nothing behind Rewind. Chromedome must have sat down at the table instead of coming over to talk.

Honestly, Rewind would have regretted coming here if he wasn't so darned lonely when he was, well,  _alone_.

Things unfolded in a thick silence, marked by the faint, unkillable noises of everyday life. The hum of engines. The roar of traffic. The clink of glass and metal against metal as Rewind lay a few empty cubes on the table and Chromedome unpacked the containers, pouring out the multicoloured bottles.

"So you do freelance work?" Chromedome asked a few minutes in.

"Yes. Sometimes. Mostly I work on my own…projects. Sometimes they get me to go out and record for a war history. Sometimes they need me to check data."

"You've got pretty high security clearance."

Rewind felt some of the tension ease as he went into the familiar conversational territory.

"Yep. There aren't many archivists left."

"What happened to them?"

"They left. Or joined the 'Cons."

"They didn't owe much to the Autobots."

"No. But we owe something to everyone else who's going to suffer because some mech somewhere decided they weren't properly alive."

The quiet returned for another few minutes.

"Chromedome, I'm going to be blunt."

"All right."

"Do you ever want to see me again?"

Chromedome nodded.

"That was blunt."

"Yep."

More quiet. He left it for Chromedome to fill.

Which took quite a while, actually. He finished his cube before either of them made another noise. "Do you?"

"I asked you."

Chromedome winced. "Yeah. You did."

His shoulders were slumped inward, as if he were trying to hide behind himself.

"I know you probably don't want to hear this, but…you're just about the only reason I haven't gone back. To the clinic."

 _Oh_.

Oh.

Rewind didn't know what to say, other than that he'd had the tables turned on him in one small moment.

A small moment, yes. He felt very small.

"You shouldn't feel like you have to agree with that, or anything," Chromedome mumbled. "There's just not a lot left for me. Apart from the surgery."

Rewind felt himself rise, leaning over the table.

"If you keep operating, you'll still end up dead."

"Oh, sure. But it'll be interesting." Chromedome glanced at him just for a moment, almost afraid. "Anyway, uh, thanks for the energon. It was good."

"Chromedome…"

His friend paid no mind to him, just speeding up until his own words tripped over each other. "Yeah. Thanks for coming over. And sorry for telling you that. I promise, if you tell me to stay away, I'll be fine. I met you. That's enough. You don't need to worry—"

"Shut up." Rewind's voice cracked. "Why'd you stop talking to me?" .

"What?"

"You heard me!" He was nearly sobbing. This hadn't been the plan. "Why did you stop? I thought—I don't know, I thought you didn't want me."

"Rewind? Are you all right?"

Chromedome's hand lifted to hover over his shoulder. Why couldn't he just touch him? Just one touch, like the first time they'd met.

"I don't know," he answered honesty. "Just—tell me."

"Okay." Chromedome sounded miserable as he slumped back down on the stool. "I thought you wanted to forget I was ever here."

Again, he was almost speechless. Almost, but not quite.

"Do you really think I'd sink that low?"

"No. What happened was I didn't think you'd sink low enough to remember me."

This time, this was where he couldn't speak. Not because it was a shock, but because in hindsight, this is exactly what would have happened.

"I know it's hard to be around me. All I do is recharge and inject, and then complain about it. The only one who can stand me is Brainstorm, and that's because he's as miserable as me, and also 'cos he's a light-year away. He's got no morals, he's got no sense, he's got nothing against me." Chromedome sighed, flicking a look up at him as if to check that he hadn't run away. "Yeah, no, I know it's hard for you to be here. With me. I don't want to hurt you, and with me, that's kind of unavoidable."

Rewind shook his head mutely, but Chromedome pressed on without noticing.

"I just thought you'd figured that out when you saw me at work . You  _were_  avoiding me. Why else would you?"

Finally, finally his brain kicked into gear and lined up some words. A word. The word.

"No."

"No?"

"No."

Chromedome fixed him with a doubtful stare that begged him to keep going.

"I know you're waiting to die," he said bluntly.

"I haven't exactly been hiding it," interrupted Chromedome.

"That's not what I'm trying to say!" Rewind jumped on to the table to face Chromedome head-on. "I  _know_ you're sick. I know you never expected to make it this far. I know you hate yourself, and I know you can't make it stop. Big. Deal."

Chromedome at least had the decency to look ashamed, but that wasn't what he was going for.

"I knew that the day I met you. I'm an obsessive disposable without an off-switch. You're a depressed knock-off with an addiction. I have spent  _millennia_ of my life, during a war for the survival of our  _species_ , searching for a single body. Even just a picture of a corpse—and I couldn't even find that! I am officially, one hundred percent useless. If you can put up with me, I can put up with you."

It couldn't be called a silence, since his fans whined and his vocalizer spat static, but neither of them said a thing in the few minutes after.

"I know," Chromedome said carefully, "That you just said that to make a point, but you're not useless."

"Maybe for the small things." Oh, no, he'd promised himself he wouldn't choke now— "But I sure can't do what's important. I can't take care of the people that I love."

"None of us can," said Chromedome quietly. "So that's no way to judge."

"I guess. I mean, I know it's not, but—"

"Listen: you're smart, you're funny, and you're so, so kind it's still kind of hard for me to believe that you exist. Even though you're in more pain than I am. You saved my life, and you keep saving it. Whatever happened isn't your fault. I know that, and what's happened since isn't either. You've lived. That's more than enough."

That was it.

The evening had been a wild, wild ride from one emotion to the next, and now all Rewind could do was fall into Chromedome's arms and sob.

"Oh, god."

"It's okay."

A comforting arm wrapped around his shoulders.

"I'm sorry," he stammered. "I don't know why I'm doing this."

"It's because you've been thinking it was your fault, and now someone's told you that it's not," Chromedome murmured. "And now, for the first time in a while, you're wondering if maybe you still might have the right to live your life."

He laughed weakly. "I guess you're right."

"Maybe I am. It's what just happened to me."

"So we're still friends?"

"As long as you want me, I'm here."

"Good." Rewind sighed. "Can I clean your room?"

"What?"

"If we're going to stay friends, you need to be using your slab and I need to be able to walk in here without triggering an avalanche."

"High-maintenance, much."

"That's what my old renters always said."

"Mmm, they had a point."

"Oh shut up, you."

It could have gone better, but as long as Rewind could feel him here, it was good enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not quite sure on the characterization, but Rewind doesn't seem the type to let anything go at all easily and Chromedome certainly has his issues. In this case, it actually works for both of them. Chromedome is self-isolating, but Rewind is so desperate for something after so much searching that he's willing to go to great lengths just to keep up a regular coffee date.
> 
> As for Chromedome's fear that Rewind could fall victim to the New Institute, it probably won't happen. But as of this point, Chromedome's sunk to some pretty low depths and Prowl's gone lower, so his fear is justified. Would Prowl order Rewind Shadowplayed? Nah. Would he order a partial wipe of Rewind's memory if he felt he knew things that might jeopardize Autobot security? Absolutely.
> 
> Last thing: Chromedome's confession to Rewind isn't a really healthy sentiment, but Chromedome hasn't felt a healthy sentiment for at least like 2000 years at this point. The internal chronology is approx.
> 
> Reign of Nominus - mechaforensics  
> Reign of Sentinel - mechaforensics, falling-out with Prowl  
> Reign of Zeta - eventual transfer from mechaforensics to mnemosurgery, apprenticeship to Trepan, some interaction with Prowl  
> Start of war - tense reconciliation with Prowl  
> First half-million years of war (approx.) - mostly intelligence work  
> Second million years of war (approx.) - friendship with Brainstorm, assembly of core New Institute group, marriage to Scattergun, marriage to Mach  
> Third million years of war (approx.) - some New Institute work, some field work, marriage to Pivot, kidnapping of Trepan, start of serious health and mental health issues (mild-to-moderate issues previously)  
> Just after the three million year mark - suicide attempt, meeting with Rewind

**Author's Note:**

> [author bangs head on desk]
> 
> Background notes:  
> Prowl probably tries to keep a close watch on Rewind, because if he finds out about Agent 113 then things are going to go south  
> Chromedome has a weird sense of humour  
> The setting is probably a temporary city built on a moon behind Autobot lines, meant to house noncombatants for ten thousand years or so until either the Decepticons break through or the Autobots advance further  
> Both Chromedome and Rewind are getting progressively more tipsy and less on-top-of-things in the bar scene, so that's why they're so forthcoming


End file.
